Worst Enemy To Greatest Hope
by Anonymous R
Summary: One lonely night, Knuckles recieves an unexpected and initially unwanted visitor on his island that may offer him some hope of happiness, or even freedom. However, the jealous, possessive Master Emerald will do everything she can to stop it.


Chapter 1

Silence--as always. Dedication--as always. Everything was the same–once again, as always. Nothing changed and nothing ever had. In all likelihood, nothing ever will, and Knuckles pondered this constant state of sameness every night just as he always had.

In all honesty, he'd never been phased by it–that is, until now. He found himself wondering why. In fact, now that the young guardian had thought about it, things actually had been changing. He had been changing, to be more precise. His focus drifted from his duties far more often than they once had, and his dreams of one day attaining his freedom pestered him more than ever . . .

And it was at this moment that he realized it; he was miserable. Bound to his title with unbreakable chains, he was a slave to the all-powerful being sitting behind him.

But then he felt guilty thinking of himself as a slave. After all, for a week one could go down the list of things the Master Emerald had done and never reach the end. She'd incubated him as an egg, sustained him as an infant, trained him, fed him, bathed him, clothed him . . . One could go on and on, but the fact of the matter was that she was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. Who was he to question her? He almost certainly owed her something, right?

"Knuckles, go to sleep," the emerald commanded, sensing his distress . . . Although she couldn't quite tell his reasons for being in such a state. "You've been awake for two days now."

"But what if somebody comes and tries to take you?" Knuckles responded automatically. This was a reflex; any other response and he'd be sent to sleep alone in the dark.

"Oh don't worry about me, dear," she replied sweetly. "I'll be fine for a few hours."

Sighing, Knuckles curled up on his side and made an attempt to obey her command. However, he really wasn't that tired, and now that he'd mentioned somebody trying to take the emerald, another thing had come to his mind – Rouge.

Yes, his old enemy. Oh, how he despised her -- And yet, he had a certain respect for her. Aside from the emerald, who he'd never once managed to defeat in combat, Rouge was the only female he'd ever met who was a real challenge. She was strong – maybe as strong as he – and she was smart. There was also something else about her that he couldn't quite place, but he liked it, whatever it was. It gave him goose bumps, and it made him feel . . . well, happy.

Again he sighed. Such a feeling for Rouge of all people had to be bad–just had to be! She was the enemy! Although she had claimed to have given up her ways, he could never let his guard down. Ever. She could not be trusted.

But then, just as Knuckles was starting to drift off, he was reawakened by a faint noise in the distance. An intruder?

"Oh, what now?" he groaned as he stood up, stretched, and grabbed one of the many torches suspended around the inside walls of the altar.

Although he wasn't tired, Knuckles still couldn't help being irritated at this interruption, but it didn't matter. He'd quickly dispose of the intruder and go back to bed; it was no big deal.

Marching down the steps and over the bridge, he followed the distant noise. As he drew closer, it started to sound more like somebody crying. Listening harder and walking faster, he tried to make more sense of the noise.

"Who's out there?" he shouted, holding the torch up to get a better view.

No answer. Just the same faint sobs.

"Who's out there?" he shouted again, louder this time. Looking all around as he pivoted through the cold, dewy grass, he still saw nothing, but just as he stepped on what felt like a stick, the constant cries were suddenly replaced with a loud shriek that sent him rocketing into the air only to land flat on his back.

"Ouch . . . " Knuckles grumbled as he sat up and rubbed his aching back with his hand. After regaining the wits the scream had scared out of him, the red echidna picked up his torch and looked around for the source.

There on the ground just to his right lay a blubbering, emaciated female form. Everything above her shoulders was covered in a layer of matted fur splotched with grey and varying shades of brown and blue, and she was curled up in a fetal position, holding the leg Knuckles had stepped on tightly against her skeletal frame. Also, on her back was a pair of scratched up purple wings, easily recognizable from a distance.

...Rouge? Could it be? No, surely it couldn't. The Rouge he remembered was full, strong, and healthy. How could this disgusting, pathetic creature before him be her? Well, there was only one way to find out.

"Why have you come here, Rouge?" Knuckles demanded, doing his best to pretend he knew it was her. But in all honesty, he didn't believe it.

"Help me," the female sobbed, vomiting up a load of half-digested fruit Knuckles guessed she had attempted to eat before he found her. "Help me, please!"

That was all it took; the sound of her voice confirmed it. It was Rouge, much as he hated to believe it. But now was not the time to debate in his head whether it was believable; she needed help.

So, sucking in a breath, the guardian scooped her frail body up in his arms and started walking – not back to the altar, mind you, but off in another direction. Since it was not a rare event for him to anger the emerald, he'd taken some time to build a very, _very_ small house. It only contained three rooms, really; a main room, a tool shed, and a single bedroom.

When they finally reached the house, Knuckles set her down on the ground just outside. He didn't care if he only lived there part-time; if she was to stay in his house, she would have to have a bath first. However, bath time would come later. The first priority was to feed her and make sure she kept it down, so the guardian made a quick visit to his tool shed and retrieved a masher. After a quick dash to a peach tree just outside, he plucked from it the ripest fruit he could find, sliced it in half with one of his claws, removed the pit, and mashed the flesh against a stone. Once the fruit was sufficiently mushy, Knuckles gathered it into a large leaf and carried it over to Rouge, who was still laying in the spot he'd left her. Now was the hard part–coaxing her into eating. He really wasn't well-suited for the job, but he'd give it a try.

"Open your mouth, Rouge. Now," he commanded, trying to suppress the gruffness of his voice. "I've got food for you; you're not going to die on my island if not by my hands."

Groaning painfully, Rouge obeyed and forced her mouth open. Had she been herself, she would never have submitted to such a command, especially when combined with that little remark afterward, but now she was just too tired and in too much pain to protest or care. Besides, she chose to come here in seek of help; what more could she expect?

Supporting Rouge's head with one hand, Knuckles slowly poured a little bit of the peaches into her mouth and commanded her to swallow, which she reluctantly obeyed. For almost two hours they repeated this ritual, and all the while Knuckles observed how weak and helpless she truly was. She was like a rag doll in his arms – unable to move without any assistance, and completely dependant on him to keep her alive. The guardian had never dreamed of seeing his enemy in such a state, and in a way it kind of softened him . . .

At last when Knuckles had finished feeding her, he went back inside and grabbed a large towel; it was now time for Rouge's bath. Once again, he sucked in a breath and scooped her up in his arms, this time carrying her out back to one of the many hot springs scattered around the island. Closing his eyes just to spare himself of what his rival may now look like under her rags, he quickly removed them with one hand, dipped her into the spring, then hopped in behind her.

Rouge felt a sudden rush of relief as soon as she was immersed in the hot water, all of her aches and pains dulled. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this good, but like most other things tonight, she really didn't care. At least she was somewhat getting back to her old self.

Opening her eyes slowly, she looked around; the water directly around her was stained with dirt and grime that had melted away from her body, and . . . Knuckles was in there with her?! Oh God, now she had something to care about. In fact, forget caring or being embarrassed. She was downright humiliated! How could anybody stand to be anywhere near her in this condition, especially her rival? It was almost too much for her to bear, nearly putting her in tears.

"You'll be okay," Knuckles assured her as he scrubbed the remaining dirt and grime from her fur, completely oblivious of her discomfort.

Sighing, Rouge relaxed and leaned against him, closing her eyes once again to try and hold back the tears that struggled to stream from them. This had to be one of the most humiliating things she'd ever been through, but at least she'd be clean in the end.

When she had finally been scrubbed clean, Knuckles stood up, rinsed himself off, hauled her out of the water and onto the towel he'd brought with them. Her fur was no longer filthy and matted, but back to its original soft white state . . . Well, as close as it could be for somebody literally starving to death.

"Feeling any better?" Knuckles asked casually as he wrapped her up in the towel and carried her back to the house. He'd let her use his bed for now; he'd be fine on the floor.

"A little," Rouge replied, burrowing her face into the towel.

"Good."

Knuckles then took her into the house, into the bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. The mattress was simply a cloth bag filled with straw; his guest was probably more used to those soft, ridiculously perfect mattresses one would encounter on the mainland, but she would have to settle for what could be offered.

"...Knuckles?" Rouge whispered, looking up at him tiredly.

"What?" he replied.

She then paused. Would she say thank you? ...No. Though Knuckles certainly deserved it, the ivory bat was still just too proud."...You're not quite as bad as I thought."

The guardian didn't have any response. He just curled up with his blanket and closed his eyes. At last, he could rest . . . Well, that's what he thought anyway.

"I just know I'm going to hate myself for this," he thought to himself as he rolled over, no longer wanting to look at his guest. Every bit of logic in his head screamed out to tell him how big a mistake this was – this was the enemy! This was the one person who had the gall to return to Angel Island a second time! And so boldly, too!

However, his emotions screamed out just as loud. Knuckles could never forgive himself if he purposely allowed anybody to die on his island in such a miserable, humiliating way – even Rouge. So, the guardian reached a simple solution:

Rouge could stay, but only until she was strong enough to fend for herself. It was get well, and then get out.

However, the Master Emerald had been watching the whole thing from her spot at the altar. There was nothing on this island she couldn't know or see; in fact, she could pinpoint the exact location of a dust mite in Knuckles' bed in the middle of the night during a hailstorm from her current position.

That being said, she had other plans for when Rouge was going to leave. Well or not well, our dear Emerald planned to have Rouge removed as soon as possible. How dare that filthy flying rat show her face around here again? How dare she? This little home wrecker must have guts; that's all Emerald could figure.

In fact, this was one of the few times she regretted teaching Knuckles what she had, because had she not, Rouge would have been broken in half twelve times over by now. Emerald could only hope things wouldn't get any worse; however, things would indeed get worse. Much, much worse.


End file.
